Locked In
by MoreHeartThanAche
Summary: Spencer wakes in a hospital room with no recollection any events beforehand. Is it all a conspiracy? Perhaps something is really wrong!
1. I

**Title: **Locked In

**By: ** MoreHeartThanAche, BeyondxNekoxMassacre and TheWeirdoOutsideYourBedroom

**Summary: **Spencer wakes in a hospital room with no recollection any events beforehand. Is it all a conspiricy? Perhaps something is really wrong!

**A/N: **Okay, I'm testing dark waters with this fic. I mean that in a very serious sense, I'm generally a 'take-the-piss' kinda girl, so when my friends and me all found out we had the common ground of having utmost obsessions about Criminal Minds (shocking I know) we came together to create this. Originally it was going to be a light-hearted trip of self-discovery by our over-the-top adorable genius but when we wrote it, the story itself turned rather dark. I personally blame it on Mia (TheWeirdoOutsideYourBedroom), her stories are very horror based on here so yeah. Anyway, that is why I leave this story with warnings. Even so, I hope you do enjoy it and I'm sorry this A/N is very long so please enjoy this collaborative Criminal Minds fanfiction **Locked in. **

-Thank you from: Abi (MoreHeartThanAche) Stephen (BeyondxNekoxMassacre) and our own personal genius Mia (TheweirdoOutsideYourBedroom)-

**Disclaimer: **We don't own Criminal Minds, full-fucking-stop. But man if we did...

* * *

_(Breathe)_

_(It's hard to breathe)_

_(Just keep breathing)_

_(My chest feels tight)_

_(Don't worry, you'll be just fine)_

Slowly, timidly Spencer Reid opened his eyes, only to close them a second later as a bright light shone down on him. His head throbbed painfully as he tried to form the memories he so desperately needed. They weren't coming though, instead all he could think about was the throbbing in his temples and how exceedingly dry his mouth had become. Blinking slightly, Spencer became awake of the plastic tube that stopped his left arm from moving freely. Panicking, his eyes growing wide before squeezing them shut again as though to erase the image.

No memories of what had happened to him were coming to mind, no recollection of any events. Nothing. For the first time in his life, his mind was a blank canvas which both confused and scared him. Almost painfully he tried to get his brain in motion; it was slow, like a machine that needed a good dose oil. What did he know, that was the next thing he tried to figure out. He was lying down, a bed with crisp white sheets. Grasping them slightly in his hands. Starched, thick, cotton sheets; a hospital most likely. The drip in his arm suggested he was ill. Spencer certainly felt ill, other than the headache his bones also felt heavy, like they were being weighed down with something. His muscles ached as though he had just done several hours running uphill. Tentatively opening his eyes again, waiting for the his eyes to adjust to the glaring light, he scanned the room quickly. White with a cold feeling. Empty except for the bed, a single chair in the corner and a bedside table with a plastic cup. The only sourced of colour was the red straw protruding from the cup.

Where where his things. Books? If there was one thing Spencer was never without, it was a book. The light from the window (plastic not glass no doubt) suggested it was early morning, but what time of year was it. Month, day, week, minute, second. Anything would suffice to Spencer to give him some indication that this wasn't some bizarre dream. It sure felt like it. Again studying the window, he couldn't see anything out of it. Just sky, a clear blue sky. Possible early summer then. Why couldn't he remember. Everything was quiet, no birds, no traffic. Just silence, it was both peaceful and odd. It was never this quiet. Never.

Lying still, Spencer let out a long shallow breath. Everything was fuzzy, strange and confusing to the point that it made him want to cry. It was never like this before; he was Spencer Reid, genius mind of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. It just didn't make sense. Closing his eyes again, Spencer willed himself to wake up. It didn't happen though, he didn't wake up. He jumped slightly when the door to his room clicked open softly. Spencer glanced wearily at the nurse who entered the room.

"Hello Spencer," the nurse said. "Nice to see you awake. We all thought you'd never wake up."

Nice. Such a meaningless word, used when nothing else could come to mind. Even in his foggy minded state, Spencer could tell that the nurse, despite putting on a well crafted façade, probably couldn't care less about hiss well being or anybody else's who happened to be in the building. It was all part of the job she was entitled to do, be 'nice' and 'helpful'. Spencer silently frowned at her, there was something odd and somewhat vaguely familiar about her, but he couldn't remember.

"How you feeling? Headache?" it was more of an observation rather than a question.

"Yes," he whispered. His voice sounded croaky as though it hadn't been used in a long time. His throat was sore, something he had just realised, and his mouth was dry. His lips were cracked, his tongue dry, so much so it stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Water?" again, it wasn't so much as a question rather than an obvious oberservation of Spencer's own increasing discomfort.

The plastic cup appeared close to his mouth, of which Spencer took a long drink of, the drink however was taken away before he was finished.

"Not too much dear, we don't want you getting sick on us. You're still recovering from the anesthetic," the nurse said softly setting the cup down on the bedside table.

Anesthetic? This was new news to Spencer. Anaesthetic usually meant operations. Carefully trying to get his arms to work, he did a quick scan of his body, no stitches could be found on the places he could feel. Nothing was itching and uncomfortable. So why the anaesthetic. Frowning slightly and trying to make sense of it, Spencer let his arms fall back to his sides, he glanced at his hands. There were healing puncture wounds on the back of it, small scabs along the lines of veins, where previous drips had been inserted into his hand. Looking up his arm he noted fresh cotton wool buds in the crease of his elbow, stuck on with surgical tape; a recent blood test. How long had he been ill for? Was he really ill? Why couldn't he remember.

Again the sound of the door clicking open entered the silent room, there were more voices. Another doctor most likely. Closing his eyes again, Spencer tried to work out what the conversation was about. Him most likely, but it was rude to talk about somebody (semi-conscious or not) when they were right in front of you. The close of his eyes, however, had caused a wave of tiredness to cascade over him and all he could hear were short snippets of words such as 'still drowsy' and 'headaches'. Sighing quietly, Spencer gave into the impending darkness and let it's heavy grasp take him. In strange moments of consciousness, he was barely aware of being wheeled down a corridor, the overhead lights hurt his eyes.

There was a soothing voice and then he felt cold, as though ice was being rubbed up his right arm. All the words being said to him became a mass of overlapping babbling and an oxygen mask was placed over his face, somebody was holding his free hand as coldness continued to spread up his right arm as slid back into oblivion almost thankfully this time.

_(Why is everything so bright)_

_(It's not, just go to sleep dear)_

_(Why am I here?)_

_(All in good time, all in good time)_

* * *

**A/N: **Weird, yes. Leading to something, certainly so. Anyway, we all you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading.

- MHTA, BxNxM and TWOYB-


	2. II

**Title:** Locked In

**By: ** MoreHeartThanAche, BeyondxNekoxMassacre and TheWeirdoOutsideYourBedroom

**Summary: **Spencer wakes in a hospital room with no recollection any events beforehand. Is it all a conspiracy? Perhaps something is really wrong!

**A/N:** Ho-lee-shit! I mean seriously, we got so much feedback. People, we all want hugs (especially for Stephen 'cause he's a depressed mothertrucker) but honestly, I kept getting messages for days (forwarding all to my co-writers) and by god they just didn't stop! It was insane! So keep the insanity coming because we love it, we knew we could rely on this fandom not to let us down, thanks guys. You rock. There is some weird imagery in this chapter, but oh well. I'm sure you can handle it, besides 11 of you handled it well enough to follow this story. So please. Just enjoy chapter 2 :)

**Disclaimer: **Ain't that a "b" with an itch, ain't that a mother trucker. You can go to h-e-double hockey sticks and f yourself. It's clear we don't own Criminal Minds. But if we did, oh boy.

* * *

_(Are you going to explain yet?)_

_(You're not ready yet)_

_(But that's a lie, this whole thing's a lie)_

_(You're sick Spencer, but we're here to help)_

Slowly Spencer opened his eyes, luckily for him this time he had been able to retain some of the memories of what had happened to him beforehand. Again he was in the dull white room from before and it just made Spencer's mood drop by a whole 10%. His head was pounding, his muscles ached. What had they done to make him feel like this constantly, was it a demobilization technique? The door clicked, more buzzed and then a click. It reminded Spencer of the doors on cells at prisons. Prison? Was he a prisoner? Had he committed a crime? Killed somebody! Surely he would remember something as vital as that. He glanced lazily at the nurse who had entered the room.

"How you feeling hun? Headache?" Spencer nodded forgetting the last time and the pain that had caused. "Understandable. Don't worry hun, you'll feel right as rain in a few hours."

Hours seemed like an eternity to Spencer, the pain behind his eyes grew with each second so to be stuck with it for a few hours seemed like hell. The nurse turned back to Spencer who had closed his eyes again attempting to block out the worst of the pain (mostly blaming the light in the room to be the cause of his discomfort). He suddenly felt a hand on the side of his face which caused his eyes to flutter open, the nurse had placed a cool hand on his cheek.

"Sorry, but you need to stay awake for now. You've been sleeping mostly for the last few weeks," weeks? this was new. How long had he been out of it. Had he really been here, where ever here was, for that long. "Now I need you to sit up for me. Can you do that?"

Letting out a small breath, Spencer pushed himself up slowly happy to finally have feeling back in his arms (numb limbs had become something he didn't enjoy). The nurse smiled at him when he was finally sitting up, she handed him a small cup that contained several different pills. 'Too many to be just pain killers ' Spencer thought before looking down at them doubtfully and then back up at the nurse who was looking at him intently, her deep green eyes boring silent holes into his skull. Sighing a nearly undetectable sigh, he swallowed them despite not knowing what they could do.

"That's good," the nurse said cheerfully. "It's been weeks since you were able to take the medications."

'Again with weeks,' Spencer thought. His vision was swimming, just like it had before. He knew what was coming next, Spencer lay back down and was quickly succumb into the darkness of sleep. His last thought being 'knew it wasn't just painkillers.'

He was walking down the streets of Las Vegas. He could feel the heat of the sun on his skin, the glare intensified by his glasses. He squinted slightly as he made his way down the street, that was when he noticed the dark red patch on the ground and the following trail. Young curiosity edged him further to follow the trail of dark red. It lead him down the street and into a dark alley. It wasn't dark enough to stop his vision, but still dark enough to frighten the boy. Even so he continued to edge into the alley. Hairs standing on end, that was when he saw where the dark red trail ended. A person was pinned up against a wall, blood continued to spread onto the ground as a dog, wolf, creature bore into the poor man. The boy gasped as the creature continued to rip large chunks out of its victim. The creature withdrew from its victim and turned to face the boy lunging quickly at the boy

Spencer woke, shaking and sweating into consciousness. He looked over to see the nurse that had been in his room earlier gone and replaced with another.

"Bad dream?" the woman asked.

"A bit," Spencer replied finding his voice after so long.

He ran a shaking hand over his face, wiping away most of the sweat as he struggled to slow his heartbeat and breathing. It had felt so real, he could have swore he felt the sun on his arms, the coolness of the shaded alley. Glancing at the woman, he wondered how long she had been in his room. If she was even real! Spencer had recently been seeing things, nothing fanciful, just things out of the corner of his eyes. Many of them being in between sleep and moments of reality, who was to say even in that moment that he was actually awake. Maybe it was still a bizarre dream, he'd wake up any moment in his own bedroom, in his own bed, in his own apartment.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" the woman asked. Spencer paused, he opened his mouth as though to say something but the words quickly withdrew and with it, Spencer's ability to talk. So he simply shook his head. "You know you'll have to talk to me eventually Spencer."

"I don't have anything to say," Spencer replied quietly, almost inaudibly.

The woman was calm, not fluttering about like the nurses. Just observing, taking in the body language that Spencer was presenting, the holding back of emotions. Spencer was breathing shallowly, letting the last dregs of sleep leave him. He was glad to be rid of it, the fear from the nightmare also. He just wanted rid of it.

"You'll have to talk to me, you get better," the woman said after a while.

"I'm not sick," Spencer replied, that was something he was sure of.

"Are you not? Then where are you?" the woman said.

Spencer went to reply but found he couldn't. He didn't an answer as he didn't know where he was and if he had been told then he had forgot. It was an unfair question.

"I don't know, I was never told," Spencer replied. "That was hardly a fair question."

"You see Spencer, that was a fair question. You were told where you were," the woman said. "You're in Gatehall Hospital's Psychiatric unit."

A psychiatric unit? It didn't feel right; a place that specialised in the temporary or permanent care of people with psychiatric disorders. Spencer frowned, he didn't feel the need to be here. He didn't have any serious mental disorders. He didn't feel mad; exhausted, confused and a little sick but not mad. This wasn't right, a conspiracy.

"There is nothing wrong with me," Spencer said finally.

"If there wasn't, you wouldn't be in a hospital with an IV line in your arm, now would you," the woman replied, she was sharper than she first appeared.

Spencer, feeling mildly dizzy, lay back down and stared at the ceiling again (it was a sight he had grown accustom to seeing). he sighed but didn't look over at the woman, a physiatrist.

"This is how it will work Spencer," the woman said. "You can ask me a question and I will answer it okay."

"What's your name?" it was the first thing that came to the mildly fuzzy mind of Spencer.

"Dr Rozamund Wolff," was the answer.

Spencer badly wanted answers.

_(You think I'm insane)_

_(We don't it that)_

_(That's the context though)_

_(I've never said that)_

* * *

**A/N:** More will be brought to light in the next chapter. Such as; why is Reid in said Psychiatric unit and what is wrong with him. However, you need to review because they are like drugs. We can't live without them. So go on, be nice, tell us your thoughts. Why dp _you _think Reid is there and what is wrong with him. Thanks for reading.

-MHTA, BxNxM & TWOYB-


	3. III

**Title: **Locked In

**By: ** MoreHeartThanAche, BeyondxNekoxMassacre and TheWeirdoOutsideYourBedroom

**Summary:** Spencer wakes in a hospital room with no recollection any events beforehand. Is it all a conspiracy? Perhaps something is really wrong!

**A/N: ***Facedesks and freaks out* people! People! Honestly I don't know what we're doing but it appears to be getting your attention. We've had 2 chapters up and it's ready got well over 600's views. It's crazy! Not to mention the insane amount of followers and reviews we've been getting! We all knew this fandom was enthusiastic and awesome but never THIS awesome and enthusiastic! Thanks so much, here is chapter 3 for your enjoyment and some questions being answered xD

**Disclaimer:** Despite our constant telepathic battles with Jeff Davis, we have not yet secured domination over him and remain to be lowly fanfiction writers. We don't own Criminal Minds. YET!

* * *

_(It's not fair)_

_(Why do you say that?)_

_(Because it's true, your assumptions)_

_(Now Spencer, we've never made assumptions)_

_(Yes you do)_

Spencer lay still, he was silently assessing his situation. Everything he had thought before was true, he was in a hospital. A psychiatric hospital however, why? They wouldn't tell him why though, he wasn't insane. He didn't need to be here. Dr Wolff spoke again:

"Are you ready to continue?" she asked.

"Yes, yes I am," Spencer replied somewhat unsure.

There was a silent moment and the suffling of paper could be heard. Whatever he said would be documented, Spencer should have known that. It was a standard procedure but was also dangerous, if you said something out of context it could very easily be used against you some other time. Spencer knew this but continued his questioning, it was the only way he was ever going to get the answers he was seeking.

"Now ask me Spencer, ask me why you're here. If you want to know that is?" Dr Wolff asked, it was a stupid question. Reverse psychology, but it didn't affect Spencer, he already wanted to know why he was where he was.

"Why am I here," Spencer said audibly.

"Not because of a conspiracy or because anybody thinks that you're insane. That is what we call..." Spencer cut her off.

"Paranoid ideation. I know, but that's not true, I'm not paranoid," Spencer snapped.

The sound of pen scratching paper could be heard in the pause between questions and answers. Paranoia? Was that why he was here. Something as simple as paranoia, something Spencer dealt with a lot in the FBI, paranoid killers. Breathing shallowly, Spencer waited for Dr Wolff to continue her Q and A session, even if it wasn't progressing as quickly as Spencer hoped, it also seemed as though she was still keeping things from him.

"I figured you would know that however the reason you are actually here is not because of paranoia but because you have severe depression. That coupled with acute paranoia and auditory hallucinations," Dr Wolff stopped when she saw that Spencer's face had visibly gone the colour of the starched sheets.

One word flashed across the young man's mind and that was schizophrenia. For years Spencer had been afraid of being diagnosed with the disease. It would take him, consume him and leave him as feeble minded as his mum had become. It was something he had dreaded for years and now, most likely, they were going to give him the one diagnosis that could very easily leave him out of a job, all his hard work vaporised and leave him labelled as just another victim of mental illness.

"We thought that you could be developing schizophrenia," Dr Wolff continued one she saw Spencer's breathing even out. "But the diagnosis now is severe, psychotic depression."

"I'm not psychotic," was Spencer's first reaction but if felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off his chest.

He didn't have schizophrenia but psychotic depression was not good either. It also was also a crippling mind-numbing illness with, sometimes, disastrous consequences.

"How do you know you're not psychotic. Psychosis is where you believe..." Dr Wolff said slowly only to be cut off again.

"..things that you think is true while others do not, I know, you don't have to tell me," Spencer said. "So if I tell you that I believe I have been put here as part of a conspiracy then I am paranoid and I'll stay here. If I tell you that I accept that I am sick and in need of help. Then I'm staying here also?"

"That is correct," Dr Wolff replied.

It was a loose/loose situation. Either way, Spencer was condemning himself to staying in Gatehall Hospital's Psychiatric unit. It wasn't fair. Spencer sat up again and closed his eyes in despair. He was at a loss; anything he said could be used against him, anything he did could be seen as suspicious. He knew that people with psychotic depression were often monitored closely.

"This is the point Spencer," Dr Wolff said, it sounded as though she was attempting to sound comforting. "Where you can start to get better. You've been here four weeks and this is the first proper conversation you've had. You have a brilliant mind and an entire life ahead of you."

"Yeah, a life of medication, labelled as psychotic and mentally unstable," Spencer replied sullenly.

Dr Wolff made a noise, to Spencer it sounded like a snigger.

"I never have once said you were psychotic Spencer," she paused. "You had psychotic depression, it is at a treatable level. Many people with mental illness go on to lead entirely normal lives, extraordinary ones even," Dr Wolff said, her voice attempting to be comforting again. "A life on medication? Possibly, though its too early to say. With the he possibility of one episode, be on medication for a few years and never suffer a relapse. You may need lifelong medication yes, but would that really be so bad? Diabetics take insulin, bipolar patients take lithium, it's not that different."

Spencer glanced at her. She just compared him to a diabetic and bipolar person. It was hardly the same went back to playing with the bedsheets and not making eye contact. He spoke quietly without looking up:

"When can I go home?" Spencer actually wanted to ask when he could go back to his version of normality. Working with the BAU, writing to his mum every day.

'When you are better," Dr Wolff replied. "When you no longer require sedation. When you can accept that you are ill and can be trusted to take medication without being forced to. When you begin to engage with these sessions with me."

"Am I not engaging now?" Spencer asked.

Dr Wolff sighed and put her notebook away.

"No," Dr Wolff said finally. "You are asking questions and I am answering. There is a difference. Until you can open up to me, we will continue with these sessions."

The two sat in silence for a few moments. The information that Spencer had just received was circulating his brain in a most dizzying manner. Accept that he was ill? A life on medication? No longer requiring sedation? It didn't feel right. It made him feel sick, sorry and dizzy. He was never going to 'open up', it was just something he didn't do. Spencer didn't want to be bother people with his own problems when there were hundreds of other people with lives much worse than his own.

"I am a psychiatrist and psychotherapist here Spencer," Dr Wolff said somewhat softly, breaking the silence in the process "And you can trust me. I'll be back to see you tomorrow. Try your best to start eating, or we'll have to start thinking about other options for getting some calories into you. The food here isn't exactly the best, but it's far more satisfactory than having a tube down your nose."

Dr Wolff got up to leave but turned just before reaching the door:

"Accept the situation Spencer. Contrary to many peoples belief, we are all human. We all need regular food, drink and sleep; we need other people around. All you need to do is accept all of these to be well," and she left.

_(How long?)_

_(What was that)_

_(I asked how long. How long until I'm better)_

_(Sometime honey, sometime)_

* * *

**A/N: **We wanna know. How many peoples hearts were in their mouths at the diagnosis. We were never going to play up to the typical schizophrenic stories. We wanted to be original and hopefully we have done just that. More in the next chapter folks and this was only written so fast because it had been pre-written before the first 2 chapters (weird right?) Anyway, hope you liked it. Thanks for reading.

-MHTA, TWOYB & BxNxM-


	4. IV

**Title:** Locked In

**By:** MoreHeartThanAche, BeyondxNekoxMassacre and TheWeirdoOutsideYourBedroom

**Summary:** Spencer wakes in a hospital room with no recollection any events beforehand. Is it all a conspiracy? Perhaps something is really wrong!

**A/N: **3 chapters, 995 views, 10 reviews, 5 faves and 21 alerts! It's insane honestly I don't think we've ever had stories that have had this quick a response. You people make us so happy knowing that our writing is being appreciated by people. You are honestly amazing! Thank you so much guys.

**Disclaimer:** I'm a martyr, I'm a victim, I'm a jerk but not one of us own Criminal Minds. One day maybe...

* * *

_(This is the best thing for you)_

_(Is it really)_

_(Yes Spencer, you know yourself that it is)_

_(I don't think so)_

Spencer lay still, he barely registered the nurse walking into the room. There were so many nurses, talking to him, trying to get him to communicate but it wasn't working. Being where he was weighing on his mind. Psychotic depression flashed in his mind as he watched the nurse fluttering around the room like an obnoxious butterfly. One of the odd things Spencer noticed was that the badge on the nurse's shirt wasn't held on with a pin but a plastic clip.

"Pins too dangerous?" Spencer asked, he needed something to get his mind off things.

"Could be used as weapons, just a precaution," the nurse replied with a giggle.

The nurse turned and held out a small paper cup with small pills inside. Spencer eyed them careful before closing his eyes and turning away from the nurse. He mumbled something along the lines of 'I don't want them'. The nurse sighed and placed the small cup down on the bedside table, Spencer glanced up.

"They are to make you better. To treat your illness," the nurse said impatiently.

"No, they are to sedate me. They don't make me better because I'm not sick," Spencer replied, he sounded like a child.

"Spencer when are you going to realise that you need help," the nurse said irritably.

Spencer sighed, the same words over again on constant repeat. He was ill. He needed medication to help him. He needed to accept he was ill. The medication was making him better. This, to Spencer, was all a lie. He was sick of darkness, he was sick of forgetting and he was sick of being told things that weren't true. However, he wasn't sick. Not in the body, not in the head. Why did they keep telling him that he was. Spencer sat up again and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Why do you insist on it?" Spencer asked.

"Without it the depression and the anxiety return. Don't you remember?" the nurse asked.

Spencer closed his eyes as an image of him shaking, crying and unable to fight the feeling of panic from deep within him. Feeling as though he wanted to tear his skin off to relieve some of the pressure, crack open his skull and escape the dark feeling. He also remembered screaming out in panic, people running, the sick feeling rising in his throat, being held down and the spread of medication sending into a spiralling pit of oblivion. Spencer buried his head in his knees.

"Do you want to end up like that again?" the nurse replied

"No," Spencer mumbled, holding back tears.

"Then take the medication," the nurse said holding it again.

Spencer took the small cup and swallowed the pills dry, just wanting to get it over with. The nurse patted Spencer carefully on the shoulder, of which he flinched and instinctively away from the touch but the nurse didn't even noticed the reaction.

"Good. Now how about something to eat. Hm?" she asked.

Food? How long had it been since he'd had a proper meal. Spencer mental note of his body, he'd always been skinny but now everything seemed like it was stretched over his bones like an odd layer of silicone. The bones of his elbows jutted out, and his upper arms had lost all of the little muscle that they used to have. It had obviously been a while, even so Spencer still didn't feel like eating. He lay back down and turn away from the nurse, he head the click of the door and a cool breeze enveloped him before Spencer fell asleep once again.

xXx

When Spencer opened his eyes again he noticed the awfully familiar shape of Dr Wolff sitting by his bedside, a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. Quickly closing his eyes again, Spencer hoped she didn't notice that he had woken up.

"It's very hard to fake being asleep, I thought you knew that," Dr Wolff stated. She already sounded exsasperated

Reluctantly Spencer opened his eyes and sure enough, the long skirt, starched shirt and tight jacket meant it was, in fact, Dr Wolff sitting by his bed ready to document anything he said. No doubt she'd write down that he pretended to be asleep so that he could avoid talking to her. That was Spencer's legitimate reason for pretending in the first place, he didn't like Dr Wolff and sure enough, she probably didn't like Spencer much either. He was considered a difficult patient, it was unfair to say so however.

"You already know how I am, why do you insist on coming back?" Spencer asked avoiding all eye contact.

"When you begin to engage in these sessions Spencer, until you open up. I have to come and talk to you," Dr Wolff replied.

Spencer sighed, he forgot about that. The ridiculous notion that Spencer had to open up to a person he didn't know well or particularly like was both unfair and a little weird. All forms of therapy was weird, one person talking to another person who they didn't know and expect to tell them everything that happened to them, how they feel and so on. It wasn't an inviting prospect to Spencer, never was and never would be.

"How are you feeling Spencer?" Dr Wolff asked.

"Standard question, why do you really care?" Spencer replied bitterly, already sick of Dr Wolff and her questions.

"I believe that it's normally considered a polite question to ask," Dr Wolff replied.

Spencer glowered through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. He didn't want to deal with Dr Wolff today but he was being forced to engage with her until he accept that he was sick. Sitting up, Spencer continued the grudging conversation with Dr Wolff.

"Why so angry Spencer?" D Wolff asked.

"You're not the one being held here against your will, now are you?" Spencer snapped.

He never meant to snap at Dr Wolff it just happened, he was tired, annoyed and just wanted to be left alone to piece together his thoughts. He didn't want to be bothered by somebody he didn't want to talk too. He didn't want to be drugged ever four hours. He wanted to be able to stay wake and not feel sick. Spencer just wanted to be away from where he was.

"Spencer, are you listening?" Dr Wolff asked.

"No," Spencer replied honestly.

"Why not?"

"I want to remember, I want to be left alone. I don't want to talk, I'm not sick and I hate it here. That's why I'm not listening," was Spencer's answer.

The snap of Dr Wolff's book was music to Spencer's ear. It meant she was no longer logging what he said, she stood up and looked down at Spencer.

"If you cooperate, you will remember but if you don't then you'll be here even longer, it's your choice," Dr Wolff said.

Spencer refused to answer any more of her questions and since the conversation became so strained that eventually Dr Wolff just left Spencer to what he wanted. To be alone.

_(I hate it here)_

_(So you've said)_

_(Then let me leave)_

_(I can't do that Spencer. I'm sorry)_

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the wait for the update. School was getting on top of everybody. It's such a drag. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thanks for all the support on the others. You are all amazing! So Review/fave/follow and we'll all see you again you amazing, beautiful people. Thanks for reading!

-MHTA, TWOYB & BxNxM-


	5. V

**Title:** Locked In

**By: ** MoreHeartThanAche, BeyondxNekoxMassacre and TheWeirdoOutsideYourBedroom

**Summary: **Spencer wakes in a hospital room with no recollection any events beforehand. Is it all a conspiracy? Perhaps something is really wrong!

**A/N:** Any delay in updates is due to Mia and Stephen having exams and me moving into 4th year with a shit load of homework -_- But I will try to update (hopefully) every two weeks. Sorry for the delays but until the summer holidays begin, we have no time WHAT SO EVER! Enjoy chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Oh cruel fate, why do you taunt us so. We don't own Criminal Minds, if we did I think we may have died and gone to heaven.

* * *

_(No more, please)_

_(It's to help you get better)_

_(No, I don't want it)_

_(Don't you want to get better)_

The next morning brought yet another nurse and another dose of pills. Spencer didn't even look up, he just lay still, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. He didn't want to be drowsy any more, he was tired of not being in control of his mind. It wasn't normal and it made him feel sick.

"I'm not taking them," Spencer said emotionlessly.

"Why not?" the nurse asked.

Spencer rolled over to face the nurse. It wasn't often he felt actual hatred for a person, she was just doing her job however her job entailed drugging somebody who didn't want to be drugged and forcing them to forget things they didn't wish to forget. After a full minuted of glaring at the nurse, she left and Spencer rolled back over to face the wall. He pulled the pillow over his head, he wanted to block out the thoughts that were circling his head and only focus on things he wanted to focus on. The door clicked open again.

"I hear you're not keen on your medication?" Spencer let out a loud sigh, Dr Wolff just couldn't stay away.

"Would you be if you were in my position?" Spencer asked.

"That's two different questions. Would I take the medication if I had your condition? Yes, I would. Would I want to take the medication if I was Spencer Reid and hadn't accepted the fact that I was ill? No, of course not," Dr Wolff commented.

Spencer sat up, Dr Wolff had become increasingly annoying every time he was forced to engage in her drawling therapy sessions. Dr Wolff continued to try and talk to Spencer who, equally, continued to ignore Dr Wolff.

"You're angry Spencer; aren't you? This continuous ignorance is clearly a result of anger, why don't you tell me what's wrong," Dr Wolff asked.

"Because I don't want to be sedated to the point that I can't remember anything!" Spencer yelled. "I don't want to forget anything else."

Angry tears were gathering in Spencer's eyes. Frustration and anguish was building and he hated it. All he wanted was answers, but any time he asked all he was told was that it was for his own good, that he was sick and needed help in getting better.

"Don't you want to get better and to get home?" Dr Wolff asked eyeing Spencer.

"I am getting better. I'm eating, I'm drinking, I'm talking, I thought that was the deal," Spencer cried in anguish.

Dr Wolff sighed. "You are progressing through a treatment course. Stopping now would be detrimental. Two more treatments to complete the course of six, and the we'll discuss it again."

"But there's nothing wrong with me!" Spencer snapped, anger flared in his eyes.

Dr Wolff let out a short, sharp breath:

"That, Spencer, sounds a lot like paranoia to me which, as I stated before, is a symptom of your illness."

He fought, of course he did, there was no way he wasn't going to. It took six of them to hold him down in the end, they had to sedate him and then he was waking up again in a strange room, head aching, mouth dry, trying desperately to work out where he was, and with tears of frustration sliding down his face, unable even to work out what he was frustrated about.

xXx

When Dr Wolff came to visit again the next day Spencer didn't say anything, he buried his head in his kness, ignored the enquieries.

"Do you remember who I am?" Dr Wolff asked finally after her questions lead nowhere.

"Yes, you're the bitch who wiped my mind once again," Spencer muttered looking up to give her a stare that could freeze hell.

"An interesting turn of phrase but it's nice to see that you remember something," Dr Wolff commented.

Spencer went back to having his head buried in his knees and muttered a mildly muted 'but very little else'. Sighing seemed to have become the only way that Dr Wolff communicated with Spencer. It was going to be a very long hour. Spencer had to admire the woman's commitment though, he supposed she'd have high tollerance for people not talking when they were meant to or just not talking at all like Spencer was.

"Why don't you just go away and leave me in peace?" he asked finally.

"Because thats not how this works," Dr Wolff replied.

"How does it work? No, wait, how about I tell you," Spencer snapped. "I tell you the deep and troubled workings of my mind, you tell me that I am psychotic and deluded, and every piece of information that I give you earnes me a few more days in here and another session of blankness and blackness fun. How am I doing? Close?"

Dr Wolff shut her notebook, she didn't write in it often and when she did it was probably more notes on how to keep Spencer in for another week.

"Are you always this angry?" Dr Wolff asked. "Or is it just being in here."

"What do you think," Spencer replied thickly.

The last outburst of emotion had sent Spencer slightly over the edge, he lay down as hot tears of frustration and sadness rolled down his face onto the bedsheets. He turned away from Dr Wolff, pulling the pillow over his head, ignoring all the psychiatrists attempt at conversation, concentrating on slowing his breathing, willing himself towards sleep. Eventually he head the door buzz and click as Dr Wolff left the room, Spencer slept but didn't dream.

_(I feel sick)_

_(It's a side effect of the medication)_

_(When can I get out of here)_

_(When you're ready)_

* * *

**A/N: **Not as long as the others but none of us have had very much time. Still, it's nearly the summer and then we'll have spare time to write as we please. Thanks for all the support, review/fave/follow and we'll all see you again!

-MHTA, TWOYB & BxNxM-


	6. NOTE

**Hey guys, **

**Sorry if you thought this was an update, but it's not. Here us out though please. We've all been so busy with school and tests and projects and just life in general. It's been really shitty for me since I've had almost no free time. Mia is taking real intense exams so she can get into her final year of school and Stephen basically has dissapeared of the face of the earth.**

**A new chapter is being written but at a freakishly slow rate and most of the inspiration for the story has fizzled out into nothingness. So, sadly, for now the story is going on hiatus. Not forever though, just until something can be done about the writing and working each of our situations around it. Sorry guys, wish we could do better for you. **

**Sorry,**

**Your three writers (Abi, Stephen & Mia)**


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